


Way Down We Go

by laquimera



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, I have no idea what I'm doing, Jonerys, Modern Westeros, Violence, sansan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:02:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26846347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laquimera/pseuds/laquimera
Summary: Gravedigger has been living in the Vale, fighting in a bar to make some money before he can leave the city - even though he has nowhere to go. One night, he meets someone from his past, someone he thought long dead or missing. As their paths meet, they'll come together to survive and win the war - both of the country and the one between them.A Sansan story set in a war-ravaged Westeros - Modern AU.Title inspired by the song Way Down We Go, by Kaleo
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, Tormund Giantsbane/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 12
Kudos: 27





	Way Down We Go

**Gravedigger**

His body was thrown back, and held up by the wooden fence that marked the edges of the makeshift fighting ring. His ears - actually, his entire head - rang after that last punch. He felt it down to his bones. The Tickler, and what a shitty name that was, hit him right on the cheek - his good one. He wasn’t so sure it hadn’t broken his face. 

While he grabbed at the railings to keep himself on his feet, a few of those low lives - who were probably betting on his victory - patted his shoulders and shouted for him to get back at his opponent. He could feel the blood from a cut on his eyebrow mix with sweat and run down his face, his neck, and then his shirtless torso. His muscles were aching, and the pain didn’t feel as good as before. Just a few years ago, he would feel barely nothing at all, and if he did, it would only serve as motivation to hurt or kill. 

He spit blood on the floor and looked up at the other fighter. The basement grew louder as he took the next few steps forward.

He was a big fella, alright. Bald, without a few teeth and some strange tattoos done by a bad artist. The Tickler was strong, but slow, and too cocky. He was going to lose this fight, he could see it clearly. And himself was about to walk out of that shitty bar and underground fighting pit with some money and a bottle of scotch. Then, he would go back to the shitty apartment he had rented and lick his wounds like a good dog. 

_ Been a while since I last called myself that.  _

The Hound was dead. That Elder Brother had said that to anyone interested to hear. The old septon had given a new name instead.

Gravedigger.

And the Gravedigger had served the small sept just outside the Vale as his name foresaw. Digging graves for those without family or friends to recognize them. Indigents. Numbers of war. And he had done his bid. Until war reached the sept was well. 

After that, the Gravedigger fell into old habits. Fighting was the only thing he was ever good at. And a few fights later, it had earned him some money to rent a small place and save some for his next departure - whenever and wherever that would be.

In his first week, he fought almost every night, sometimes more than one round. And those poor fuckers who had challenged him had met his rage. His fists were not just punching an opponent, but taking out his wish for revenge after those who had shot the septons and burned down the Quiet Isle. Last he heard, at least two fellows were taken to the hospital. And probably couldn’t be attended by any doctors. Those were war times, and unless you had something that could not be fixed without a surgery, every man, woman and child were to fend for themselves. 

After that, money came easy, as did the fighters who thought they could defeat him. Word spread quickly in the dark streets of the Vale, and the owner was thankful for the Gravedigger for attracting so many customers and betters. He even earned himself a bottle of scotch - an actual good one -, which he drank in two days. After months sober, he had fallen back to the liquor, though he still hadn’t gotten so drunk as he used to in another life. 

Apparently, the Tickler was another one of those sods who thought they could beat him, and had gotten a few good hits in.

But dogs bite back.

He cleaned the blood from his face with the back of his hand, and took his stance again, raising fists ready to punch.

Then he saw a couple of eyes that had no right to be in that rotten place, staring right at him from the middle of the crowd.

Crystal blue. So much that reminded him of the sea by the East. 

That brought back the memory of a little bird in her golden cage.

The Graveddiger hadn’t looked at those ocean eyes in so long. What was it, three years? That’s why he couldn’t understand how he found them so quickly. And why he couldn’t understand if she was real. 

Her face was partially hidden in the shadows, her head covered by the black hoodie she wore. But her eyes still shone in the dark. 

His breath got caught in his throat, and he barely noticed the fist that was raised and hit him in the face again. He was thrown back one more time, his body spinning until his back was turned. But this time it only took him a couple of breaths to regain his balance. 

_ This ends now. _

The Gravedigger turned quickly, fist already raised as he punched the Tickler in the jaw in an upward motion. The man stepped back, and he punched him right below his ribcage, then his ribs, and then his face, all in quick successions, not giving him any time to think. Every collision was calculated, knowing where to strike and its consequences. Loss of air, dizziness, vertigo, pain. He stepped on his foot, and his elbow met the other man’s stomach. With his open palm, he hit his ear. And in one final blow, his knuckles met his temple. 

The Tickler fell to the floor, unconscious, bloodied and probably left with a few collateral damages from that fight. 

He raised his eyes back to the crowd, where those eyes had been just moments before. But she was gone, and there were only the ugly and sad fuckers who had either won or lost their bets, shouting insults to one another. Perhaps she wasn’t real after all, and the hits he got to his head had made him delusional.

_ She’s gone _ , he reminded himself. 

_ Left her husband to die and flew away.  _

_ She’s probably long dead and buried, perhaps in a similar grave he used to dig. _

He tried not to think much about it as he walked away from the ring to reach the bathroom of the bar. The owner had actually set up a locker room, with a shower which only had cold water and a small bench. The water served to cool his body down, allowing him to feel the ache in his muscles and to wash the blood away. 

But it didn’t wash the image burnt behind his eyes.

“Fucking hells”, he muttered as he stepped out, dried himself with a towel and put on some clean clothes. 

He walked back to the bar, and a few of his customers were still drinking, now by the tables instead of around the ring. The owner gave him a smirk and held out a roll of bills.

“You deserve this tonight, my friend”, he said, as he took it along with a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of scotch from the counter. “I have two fighters for you tomorrow.”

He gave the man a snort.

“Any chances of me not beating them into a pulp?”

The owner smiled.

“None. Big fellows, but way too cocky.”

He smirked back.

“Until tomorrow then.”

He climbed the steps from the basement back to the street. The smell of rain hit him first. The Vale was well above the sea level, which was surprising given the amount of clouds and storms that hit the place. Right then, the streets were empty, and it wasn’t 2 am yet. And war hadn’t reached those parts of the country yet either. 

The second thing that hit him was another smell, from the same brand of cigarettes he carried in his pocket. He reached for his pack and stepped to the sidewalk by his right, where it was covered from the rain. And as the cigarette almost reached his lips, he saw a figure just a few meters from him.

A tall girl, in a black hoodie, smoking a brand new cigarette leaning against the wall.

And when she turned, there were those blue eyes again. 

This time, he knew he wasn’t imagining it. Not when she froze in her place just as he did. Not when there was so little space between the two of them. Not when he could see how much she had grown, her face beautiful as ever, but older than the last time he saw her. 

The hair that escaped from her hoodie wasn’t the right color, though. Instead of that bright red, it was a dark brown, just as her eyebrows. That made her skin look paler, diminishing her freckles. 

His breath was caught in his throat. He felt like a deer trapped between lights, without a path to follow. 

“I heard you ran away”, she said, her voice sweet as it has always been, but with more spice than honey in her tone.

He took a deep breath at last as he walked towards her and stopped by her side, leaning against the wall just as she did.

“Heard you did the same, Little Bird”, he said looking down at her, meeting her blue eyes again.

She smiled then.

_ Fuck _ .

“I guess we have something in common then”, she whispered as she took another drag.

Another deep breath from him, as if her voice had wounded him.

“What are you doing here?”, he asked without any kindness. 

She looked up at him again and blew the smoke away. 

Only that was enough to twist him from inside. 

“It’s kind of a long story”, she whispered again. 

“I’ve got time.”

She took a deep breath, and he could see the exasperation in her body. But he wouldn’t give out. He needed to know how she had gotten in the Vale. How she had reached a place like that in the middle of a bloody war. 

“Petyr Baelish brought me here when I escaped from King’s Landing”, she said, a seriousness in her eyes he hadn’t seen yet that night. “We fled during Joffrey’s wedding.”

He nodded and took the cigarette from her fingers as she raised it to her lips. Instead, he took a drag from hers, staring down at her and leaning a little more forward than necessary.

“Didn’t know you smoke”, he rasped, blowing the smoke away and handing the cigarette back.

She took a step closer to him - which made his heart pump a little stronger in his chest. Her eyes were still fixed on his lips when she took it, and again he felt something hit him like a blow. 

“I don’t”, she whispered, taking a drag and blowing the smoke away, just as he did. “Alayne does.”

He squinted at her, and she smirked in return.

“So”, he broke the silence that fell between them. “No bat wings and turning into a wolf to escape from the Lannisters?”

“No, I’m afraid not”, she chuckled, before biting her lower lip for a second or two. “Not gonna ask me if I did it?”

He took the cigarette from her again, taking a long drag.

“Did you?”, he asked before breathing out. 

“No”, she said, taking it from him again. “I watched him die, though.”

He breathed deep at the thought. He couldn’t find in himself to feel sorry for the boy. Even as a child, Joffrey was a menace. Mad beyond imagination, and cruel to the bone. 

“And how were you not found yet?”, he asked her, his tone a little softer now.

She stared at him for a few seconds.

“You found me, didn’t you?”, she whispered.

“Answer me.”

“I’m living at the Eyrie as Petyr’s bastard”, she answered, staring back at the falling rain. 

Rage and suspicion clouded his thoughts. He could still sniff out a lie, and knew there was more to her statement. He wondered where the truth laid.

“Are you safe?”, he rasped, staring at the street as well.

She turned to look at him, but he didn’t comply. 

“For now.”

That made him turn. And he almost spilled another offer, the same he once said to her all those years ago in her chambers in the Red Keep. But he bit his tongue before any words left his mouth.

And before he could think of something else to say, she dropped her cigarette and stepped on it.

“I have to go”, she said.

He nodded at her and watched as she zipped her hoodie.

“I’ll come back”, she whispered and gave him a small smile. “I enjoyed watching you fight. Perhaps I’ll place a bet next time.”

He chuckled at that.

“As long as you bet on me.”

He wondered if his sight was playing tricks on him, or if she was actually blushing. 

She took a few steps until she reached the edge of the sidewalk, right before the rain reached her. 

And then she turned around to look back at him. 

“Goodnight, Little Bird”, he rasped and leaned back against the wall.

She smiled.

“Goodnight, Sandor.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing lol  
> So, I've been thinking about this Modern AU for sometime now, and finally the first chapter is done!  
> Sorry for the long wait on the next chapter of Holiest Thing I Know, I promise I'll go back to that soon. I just needed to do this first :)  
> Pleeeeease, let me know what you think!  
> Love you all and hope you're doing well, wherever you are <3 <3 <3 
> 
> PS: I have no idea how many chapter this story will take.


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